Rainstorm
by J. Anderson
Summary: He can't ever go back. Neo in the real world... pre-Trinity.


TITLE: Rainstorm  
  
AUTHOR: J. Anderson  
  
SUMMARY: An unexpected onslaught of emotions as Neo views something taken for granted with an entirely different perspective.  
  
CATEGORIES: Drama AUTHOR'S NOTES: This thing here came to me out of nowhere one really wet night at my piano teacher's studio. I remember wanting to stick my head out the window for inspiration whenever I got a case of writer's block. I decided against that because a) I HATE colds b) I wanted to avoid unnecessary questions from my mother regarding my sanity.  
  
Anyways, I sincerely hope that you all will enjoy my first piece of writing. I adore this fic, because although it's not entirely beautiful by any means, it is entirely my own. With the exception of the characters of course.* insert necessary disclaimer * you know the drill! Enjoy.  
  
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He had known there would be rain. The green code he had grown so accustomed to reading off the monitors back on the Neb had informed him so, but nothing could have prepared him for this. Rain. Pouring and pouring from a bleak, full sky. Icy fat drops pelting into his head, shoulders, and chest until his clothes were soaked dark and heavy, and veins of water were distorting his glass tinted vision. Neo stood there, and felt it all through and through. A little voice of reason in the back of his mind told him it wasn't real. Back in reality, his body was lying stiff and dry in the steely confines of the Nebuchadnezzar, miles and miles under the ground, but logic was quickly forgotten. It was smothered by the overwhelming sensation of cold water - liters and liters of it - streaming from slick ebony hair onto his face, seeping into his shoes and collar, sucking his dampened clothes onto skin that was warm only a few moments ago. Damn. This has got to be the best lie ever told. A lie invading his very senses so he had to force himself to realize, again and again, the truth of its falsehood. Still. In the innermost recess of his mind - the part not yet taken over by the force of the new reality he was living each day - a second self thought: Nothing had ever felt more real. And for just a second his judgment wavered. Which was the dream? The thought was quickly and guiltily diminished, for he knew the truth. Though his mind wandered, he knew it deep down, coursing though his being like blood.  
  
His simulated body was beginning to feel numb, losing feeling starting with the fingers and toes. The piercing cold drove all the way into his bones, and he could feel them rattle and chatter, confined by the raw flesh, red and stiff with goose bumps. As icy droplets dripped from the tips of his nose and fingers, Neo recalled back to a time that seemed separated from the present by several eons.  
  
Thomas Anderson had never liked rainstorms. To him they were a constant source of dread, and to run from them was the only thought they had ever triggered in his mind. Wet mornings were a race from the car to the front doors of the office, cursing all the while at the splattered tie and huffing on cold-bitten fingers in frustration. Thomas died months ago, his body and soul reborn in the real world as Neo, a young and unwilling messiah of the freed. And it was Neo that stood now, trespassing into what seemed like another persons memories. A streak of lightening lit up the dark night sky, accompanied by the deafening boom of its brother thunder. The symphony of rainfall was ever present, surrounding him, unrelentingly falling as far as his eyes could see; blurring the edges of concrete high rises and desolate roads. He knew where he had to be, the things he had to do, the mission needing to be accomplished. Yet there he still stood, unable to move. It seemed as though the water had leaked into his soul, and left his heart bobbing as the familiar pangs of hopeless longing struck him colder than the frigid air. Fiercely, he found himself wishing someone had warned him. Wishing that he had been given a moment, just one moment like this, to live obliviously before destiny had so harshly awakened him. Just to feel the bitter joy of soaking to the core with rain without ever having to think that it was not as it seemed to be. That the very ground he was standing on was a lie and his own senses were the traitors.  
  
Distantly, he heard the phone ringing. Walking over to the glass booth nearby, he hesitated only a second before picking up and pressing the cold plastic to his right ear. He shut his eyes to the familiar tingling sensation as the cold was wiped away by a fluid blank, slipping over and down his head until all that was left in the glass phone booth was the dangling receiver and the eerily hollow dial tone resonating through the empty street.  
  
Slowly and faintly he heard the thrum of machines coming back, becoming louder and clearer as he also became aware of the hard surface of the chair beneath him. The rough synthetic material chaffed his bare wrist, a splintered piece of broken wood poking through the thin upholstery jutted uncomfortably into his back, and the old metallic smell of steel assaulted his nose. He could not bring himself to open his eyes. All traces of numb and cold had left his body, his hair and skin were dry once more and it was like he had been dreaming. Over the past few months, he had experienced more hardships and endured more trials than he'd had through the course of his entire life. This day had seemed like a vacation. Yet never in the time since Neo's rebirth had he ever wanted to cry so badly. 


End file.
